


star-crossed; a plethora of clichés

by MysAlexa



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin/Templar Relationship, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, It's So Cliche, It's kinda like Arno and Elise but gender-swapped and in the modern world, Like really cliche and I'm bored of that word now, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), Romantic Fluff, So much fluff like you can never imagine, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unnamed characters - Freeform, all the fluff in the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 20:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14723300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysAlexa/pseuds/MysAlexa
Summary: the perfect ending to the imperfect fairytale.





	star-crossed; a plethora of clichés

"You're an Assassin."

She didn't turn to face him. Her eyes remained fixed on the dark skies above, at the stars that glittered above their heads, a veil of calmness amidst the chaos of the world. She wished it was like this every single night, so she'd have a reason to step outside into the balcony that overlooked their unkempt and unused backyard, feel the cold night wind against her face and leaving goosebumps along the length of her arms and legs.

It was beautiful. Tonight was beautiful.

And with those three words bearing in mind, she intended to make the most of the beauty that whatever gods above them had gifted the world with tonight, for as long as she could.

Without breaking her eye contact with the stars, she hummed in confirmation.

She wasn't surprised when he took a moment too long to pause, her assumption of his surprise at her straightforwardness being proven correct.

"I'm a Templar."

She took a sharp intake of breath. "Tell me something I don't know."

His footsteps continued until they stopped and she could feel the warmth radiating from his physical presence right beside her, then, from through her peripheral vision, she watched as he rested his arms upon the wooden beams as well, his posture matching hers, his head turned up to gaze at the night's beauty as she had been for the past half an hour.

And they stood there in silence for a good long minute. She wished it lasted forever.

"How long?"

His question was too vague for the average person, but she knew him well enough to finish his sentence for him, so she drew in another long breath.

"I hate clichés."

This time, he responded right away, with a light, somewhat inappropriately playful but appropriately knowing scoff.

"Tell me something  _I_ don't know."

 _Let me finish_. "So I'm not going to say what you think I'm going to say, because I know that you know the truth, and you know what I'm going to say."

"Then let me guess, because I would at least appreciate a firm confirmation to what I think is the truth, and I have no problem with clichés." He paused then, and she braced herself for the relentless onslaught that awaited her. "Your superiors, whoever they are—Master Assassin or not—assigned you with the task of getting close to me. To figure out what I'm doing, to know Abstergo's plans—the Order's plans. Breakthroughs, inside news and gossip, any intel, so on and so forth."

"I hate clichés."

He gave his reaction too quick, sighing before she could say any further, but it did not come as a surprise to her. He tended to do that sometimes—she knew him enough,  _got_ to know him enough for the past five years, to recognize every little quirk of his. The same applied the other way around, she figured.

"But I am going to say this anyway," she added in a heartbeat, leaving him no room for quick reactions, "because I am also a defensive person, and you  _know_ that. Because you know  _everything_ about me, as do I about you, because that's the thing;  _yes_ , I was supposed to keep an eye on you, to gather information because they decided I'm not fit to do field work but somehow perfect for espionage, despite the fact that I am the most honest—sometimes  _too honest_ —person in this entire world."

"Brutally so, if I may add."

"But I did not plan— _this_." She allowed her shoulders to fall as her breathing turned more erratic than usual.  _God, no. Don't tear up—I swear to God, if you do._ "Granted, I didplan to sign up for the same psychology classes as you did, but I  _didn't_ plan to meet you in photography, nor did I plan to dump the entire contents of my vanilla latte on your brand new shirt."

She almost breathed a sigh of relief when her recounts of their shared past had made him laugh—a beautiful, warm chuckle, one that made her weak in the knees even after all this time—but part of her remained conflicted and doubtful of how  _lightly_ he seemed to be taking the situation. But that was just him—the calm before the storm, and the storm would be her in typical situations, but this wasn't the typical situation. Far from that, if anything.

"I did plan to ask you out for lunch, but I didn't plan on accepting your offer to watch the new Avengers movie together with a bunch of our mutual friends and be forced to sit right next to you and share a bucket of caramel popcorn with you, because you know how much I  _loathe_ caramel popcorn."

"You have a less chance of obtaining diabetes than high blood pressure, love."

It terrified her. His little quips and remarks. The storm was brewing—she was sure of it. And she was still bracing herself for it, but at the same time, she was terrified out of her mind that she wouldn't be prepared once it comes.

"I did plan on becoming friends with you." Her next intake of breath brought attention to the sob she was stifling, and the burning liquid that brimmed in her eyelids. He must've noticed it, too, but he had yet to show any response to it other than the slightest of flinches, almost unnoticeable if she hadn't been paying attention to his every movement from the corner of her eyes. "But I didn't—I didn't plan on going out on a  _date_ with you. Nor did I plan on going on a second date. Nor did I plan on falling in  _love_ with you."

No remark. Silent as stone. The storm hovered, she thought.

"And beyond that, everything was chaos. We graduated, we moved in together, your internship at Abstergo became a permanent paying job with a decent position in the corporation because of course, while I had to juggle my way between working my way up from being an unpaid intern to an  _under_ paid assistant to the bastard CEO of a publishing company, the struggles of being an unknown, unpublished writer, and the overbearing duties that come with being the descendant of several famed Assassins."

Still, no response. She closed her eyes.

"I didn't plan any of that, and  _god_ how much I wish I did. I wish I could take hold of the reins and control everything that happened around me, in my life, but I couldn't. And I've broken down in front of you because of it for more times than I can count, and I wish I'd planned that but I didn't, because if I did, I wouldn't have allowed myself to appear so  _pathetic_ and  _vulnerable_ right in front of you the way I did. Then all of a sudden, it's been half a decade, we went out to dinner the one night off we shared, and you drove us out to the hillside and we were under the stars, and I found a velvet box in my hands and you were kneeling down in front of me and you asked me to be your wife."

"Did you tell them about it?"

And for once, she had no idea what he was referring to, and provided enough time for him to catch on to her confusion and added, "Our engagement."

"I didn't have to. They've been keeping tabs on me—on  _us_ —the entire time, so it caught me off guard when they confronted me about it and told me that they were going to take me off the case, but not before telling me to break things off with you, then reassign me somewhere else. Somewhere not  _here_ , not even in the States, perhaps."

"Wow." He sounded amused. It didn't sound dangerous but everything about this situation right now was dangerous beyond compare. She was right—she wasn't cut out for this, either, much less field work. "Never in my life have I ever considered that the Brotherhood could be much more controlling over its own members than the Templar Order can ever be. And those freaks are  _obsessed_ over control, it scares me sometimes."

"You're one of them."

He stifled laughter this time— _what the heck is even going on_ —and leaned back, drumming his fingers on the wooden beam, each beat felt underneath the skin of her arms that came into contact with the exact same beam.

"But I have to admit, I prefer chaos sometimes. The Order's ideals are... a bit too far-fetched, if I do say so myself. I agree that there has to be some form of order for society—for human civilization—to improve, but sometimes chaos can be for the betterment of the people as well. Yes, chaos leads to war, and war leads to mistakes, but humans learn from their mistakes—they do all the time, otherwise the world that we live in now would have never existed in the first place. I think the Order has lost sight of that truth—a long time ago."

He seemed to be pondering this for a bit and she left him to it, but then he stiffened as though he'd just realized something, before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "Apologies, I've interrupted your monologue. Please, continue—I'm listening."

She closed her eyes and fought against herself the urge to smile. His voice didn't drip in sarcasm, as it should've been—it was calm and collected, as it had been the past few minutes, and as it always has been. He was, indeed, listening, like he was drinking every single word that she spoke and took it to mind and heart. And this gesture, in itself, was breaking hers.

"To be honest, I don't know what else to say," she murmured, choking up a small laugh of her own. "And  _god_ , I hate clichés but—a  _monologue_?"

"The worst of all clichés," he mused in agreement, and she nodded.

"I'm a hypocrite."

"The biggest one there is."

In this silence, she wanted nothing more than to rest her head on top of his shoulder, to have his arm around her and pull her close, for his lips to rest upon her forehead and pretend this conversation never happened at all, but it did, and she kept her own desires at bay and instead maintained the distance between them, even though they were just all too close for their own good.

It was a comfortable distance, she decided. It was all she could get for now, and it might be all she could get for forever.

"So. That's your defense?"

"I rest my case."

"Tell me a story, then." He shifted his weight from one leg to another, and she could feel his burning gaze on the side of her face for a brief moment before he turned away to tilt his head back up at the stars once again. "You're the writer, so tell me—what happens after this? Anything else you have or have not planned?"

Again, she wished she could say she did, indeed, have a plan. She should've at least had contingencies for situations like these, but she didn't. She should've.

"Well." She stifled another sob. "Since we are going the cliché route, I feel I should start with that first. The cliché ending—you get mad at me. You yell at me. Then you kick me, or yourself, out of the house, and tell me to stay away from you, for good, and I do. I get reassigned somewhere else, someplace else, and I book the first plane ticket out of here and never come back. If I'm lucky, you do not report this to your own superiors, either back at Abstergo or the higher-ups of the Templar Order, and we will never cross paths ever again."

"Cliché indeed," he mused. "Sounds like a spy action drama film, with a lot less of the action and too much of the drama. But it was also a sad ending, and I know how much you hate those, too."

"You wouldn't be wrong in that." Pressing her lips to a thin line, she hesitated on whether she should continue or not. But he was waiting, listening, standing there right next to her in anticipation of what she was going to say next. So she continued. "The other possible ending—and I'm almost absolutely  _positive_ that it's less likely to happen—is where you shut me up, pull me close, hold me tight and kiss me goodnight. Then I fall asleep, in your arms, next to you on  _our_ bed. We wake up tomorrow morning, we get ready for work, we go on about our normal lives and our daily routines, pretending this conversation never happened."

She took another deep breath.  _This was hard,_ she thought.  _More than any field Assassin work ever will be._

Feelings. Why do they have to be so complicated?

"Then perhaps," she said, slower this time, picking her words out with caution like she was walking on a tightrope, and that she was. "Within three months' time, we'll be at a church, and you'll be in a suit at the altar, and I'll be walking down the aisle in a white wedding dress because you told me to wear a dress instead of a suit because you've always wanted a traditional wedding, which I eventually agree to when I look at the mirror and feel beautiful for the first time in the twenty-five years that I have breathed and walked on this earth. You will say your vows and I will say mine, then the crowd will cheer when we kiss and the reception begins. We'll have our first dance as husband and wife, our families will end up drunk and making fools of themselves, then we get to go home and live happily forever after."

"A perfect fairytale happy ending."

"Too perfect." She made the tiniest of movements with a slight shake of her head, then tilted it back up as prayed to the stars.

 _Like the stars_ , she thought.

She wondered what was going through his mind right now. His silence spoke too little words, even if she could read most of his mind at this point in time. She could not, for the sake of herself, predict whether the storm was receding, or growing worse than ever before.

But his composure remained calm, his movements calculated, a dangerous sign and a death threat but she knew he wasn't one to explode like a volcano should the situation come to this. His breath was measured, no hitches or spikes, even though hers were littered with them all throughout these counting minutes.

"See, here's the thing."

And then he caught her by surprise, flinching and straightening her back when she felt his touch on her waist, and if their positions were switched around, she would be wary of a possible hidden blade in his possessions, but Templars were not ones to meddle with such tools of the trade.

His movements were swift, and in a blink of an eye, she found herself pressed up against his warmth, her small hands on the clothed expanse of his chest, one of his arms around her waist and she looked up to lock her gaze with his, finding herself lost in the darkness of his irises.

"That wasn't the description of the ending I asked for," he spoke, his voice low and his breath brushing against her skin, his face just inches away from her. Then, very slightly, the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "Shouldn't there be a part where I kiss you right about now—"

And he did, capturing her lips in his and letting her heart skip a beat as he stole her breath away, but he didn't go too far for their contact was kept brief, him pulling away as soon as she realized what had just happened.

"—then I allow my lips to travel lower, and lower—"

His actions mimicked his words, as he dipped in once again and his lips came into contact with her jaw this time, then to her neck, to her shoulder then to her collarbone, and she struggled not to cave in to his ministrations, fought against herself as much as she could to not let a single sound slip out her lips.

"—then I take you back inside and peel each layer of clothing, bit by bit, and  _make_ you forget this conversation ever happened?"

His voice vibrated through her skin as his lips never put distance between them ever again, leaving the softest of touches upon her skin, as though he intended to cover every inch of it before he put more truth into his words. But when the hand on her back travelled lower and lower until it was just above the curve of her bottom, the alarm warning in her mind was set off and on instant, she forced herself away from his touch, and swallowed hard as she tried to contain the pathetic whimper rising up her throat that was going to betray her conscious thought to her deepest desires.

"Because I'm tired," she said then, a bit breathless and he knew this, pleased to know this, until her words took register in his thoughts and his smile faltered away. "Not anything that you have done—god, no. I'm just... I want to—goddammit, believe me when I say I want to, but I..."

And she locked eyes with him then after gathering enough of her willpower to resist his charms, taking deep, measured breaths as this stance lingered until the light returned to his eyes, and he took belief into her words.

"Right, I almost forgot to ask you." He leaned forwards, and she almost leaned away from him until he reached up to place her cheek in his hand, before he brushed a few rogue strands of hair out of her face and behind her ear. "How was work today?"

And she breathed a sigh of relief then, because he'd just breathed into her a sense of normality once more, and his arms was beginning to feel more and more like the home she's always returned to at the end of each night, so she allowed herself to lean against the hand on her cheek, the hand that broke down her walls.

"Work was fine, actually. For once, Cyrus wasn't bitching around all that much and the others weren't giving me a hard time. I think Shelly was talking about me behind my back because all of a sudden it got real quiet when I went into the break room and I saw a couple people alternating their attention between the two of us, but otherwise things were... manageable."

"Good to hear." Then he planted a small kiss on the top of her head, into her hair, then stared back at her again. "Then how was  _work_ today?"

She didn't caught his intentions at first, parting her lips as she was about to protest until his emphasis clicked inside her mind, then she stopped, took some consideration into the next few words she was going to speak to him, knowing that he knew about her double life now, but he was still in the side of the enemy, and she needed to take caution in what she revealed to him, regardless of the fact that she was just a man concerned for the well-being of his significant other.

"Work was... exhausting." She almost laughed at how pathetic her word choice was, and how weak she sounded. "People are always moving around, and we always have to stay three steps ahead of you guys, and sometimes I just want to take a break in the middle of the race, just walk off the tracks and sit down in the middle of the field and pretend there wasn't a marathon happening around me."

And he laughed at this, too, a soft chuckle slipping past his otherwise closed lips as he listened like the good spouse he was going to be—she hoped he would be, even after all of this. His hand now moved on its own accord, smoothing through her hair as she spoke, his fingers disentangling the knots in her brown strands, but his actions remained gentle enough that all she felt were little tugs and not painful yanks, like the ones she would feel whenever she brushed her own hair.

A true gentleman, she thought.

"I know how you feel," he murmured, switching his attention from the knots to her then back and forth again. "And believe me when I say to you that I often wish I can do that, too. Everyone at Abstergo is always so ambitious, so tireless. There's always a new improvement, a new breakthrough with this project and that. People coming to me with reports and assessments, more data for me to process, informing me about more people I need to meet. Piles of work on top of more piles of work. Endless mountains of paperwork and procedures and assignments. And when something doesn't feel right, I find myself in yet another argument with my coworkers, and I pray to whatever higher power above us that my own superiors do not call me out for my consistent rebellious streak."

"A rebellious streak?" She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought that was supposed to be my dynamic."

"Do not get any ideas in that bright little head of yours, love." He gave a light tap to her forehead with the tip of his finger, then gazed back down at her with a soft smile. "As much as it burdens me to say it now, in front of  _you_ above all else, I have pledged my life to the Order a long time ago for good reasons, because as much as you Assassins believe us to be the antagonists of the story of humanity, there are good people within the Order—good people with good intentions, people whose footsteps I hope to follow someday. And you should know better that I do not break my promises. But I do believe that none of that forbids me from stressing my own rights to free speech time to time again."

"I suggested nothing of the sort, good sir." She knew it irritated him whenever she tried to mimic his accent and his way of speech, and it did, as his eyes narrowed for a mere fraction before he leaned down and pecked the tip of her nose. "So, does that mean you don't intend on breaking the promise you've made to me two months ago?"

There was no hesitation in his immediate answer, as though he was going to answer before she even finished asking her question.

"Never."

He was kissing her forehead again, and had pulled her into his warm embrace, his arms secure around her and shielding her from the evils of the world and the Order that he belonged in, but she remained restless, despite of and because of just that.

"Never, because you intend on returning the favor and extracting useful information from me? Or never, because you love me?"

She was pressed up to him so she couldn't look into his eyes, but could feel the way his head shifted as though he wanted to look into hers as well but was content with making the most of whatever view of her he could have from that angle.

"You hate clichés," he said. "But I think you know my answer."

"But will you tell them?" She pulled away from him then, but allowed her arms to linger on his. "About who I am.  _What_ I am."

"Will you?"

"They know who you are." She swallowed hard. "But this conversation doesn't change anything. They know nothing more than the fact that we are engaged because we love each other, and that you have no idea of my five-year-old assignment to you."

"Then nothing has to change." He took her cheek in his hands again and brought her closer to his lips, before he kissed her as a sign of their promise. "And because I would appreciate it if I do not return home tomorrow to find the love of my life, who I will be getting married to and speaking my marriage vows to in a few months' time, lying dead on our front porch. Or, even worse, to find you at work tomorrow, not to bring me the lunch I've forgotten, but as one of the Animus' test subjects, strapped to that damned machine to relive memories of your long-dead ancestors."

She pretended to have not heard that last bit, not even wanting to imagine such a horrid situation. It was a topic of conversation for another time, she thought. All that mattered right now was this—this eternal moment between them, the moment she wanted to last forever.

"Good."

She was the one to kiss him this time, and they lingered with each other for what seemed like forever in her perception of time, altered whenever she was with him, with her heart and mind being put to rest knowing that this—whatever they had now—was going to continue, despite of and because there were no longer any lies being told and held between them.

When they parted, she took his hand and led him back inside, knowing that the stars could wait, for they would always be there, just a little hidden from view, while the lives that the two of them had held no guarantee to whether one could always be there for the other when they woke up each new morning.

"So," she began, with a renewed sense of energy as she looked back at him, and felt heat in her cheeks when she noticed him looking back down at her with that same loving gaze. "My mom called this morning and told me she found this gorgeous farmhouse at the countryside, and they're booked for the next few months but I think they can squeeze us in..."

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if there's anything inconsistent with canon or if I got some fact wrong.  
> But hey, thanks for reading. Comments are always appreciated. Thanks and have a great day.


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